ashes to none
by within a sepulchre
Summary: -"He wanted innocence and bliss and no lies. But he was naive."-drabble. for Merc. Happy Birthday! Marris. angst. -y  a little language. R&R!


**A/N: This is a drabble written just for Merc. Happy Birthday!**

**Disclaimer: Disclaimed.**

**Prompts: "I'm not supposed to be here", stolen kisses, and A Very Potter Musical**

**Pairing: Marris (Massie/Harris)**

**Genre: Angst**

**;;;**

Harris Fisher was maybe (but no, he couldn't be) in love with a girl, having hair so shiny, and eyes so yellow that they glimmered in colors similar to brown and orange.

He had never know what the color was called, nor had he particularly cared.

She was one of the most beautiful specimens embraced by mankind, and he was also included in such a category.

But, yet, she ignored his futile actions at conversations and his oozing compliments and his playful attempts to chase her: figuratively and literally.

But-oh goodness-Mr. Harris Fisher was falling hard for Miss Massie Bock and her sharp, crystal tongue.

;;;

Harris had always loved to watch the sunlight dance and leap and pirouette over her, and create a magnificent imagery matched by none presently nor any to come.

He had told her so once-how beautiful her face was to him. Her look had been disgusted as if she couldn't believe he would say such a thing in front of her beloved friends. But it must have meant something.

He had been knocked and plastered to the wall of the girls' bathroom immediately afterwards with her soft, sweet mouth melded tightly to his and tongue exploring his own.

Their relationship after that didn't grow and sprout and shine like he had thought it would. Instead, it consisted of stolen kisses in his Mustang, and hurried notes slipped through sweaty palms.

He

should have tried much harder to make it work. He should have pursued his icy, little angel.

But she had never been one to be dominated.

;;;

They had never been alike in really any way at all.

She loved salons and despised any books (unless they included crude pictures. Massie Block had a nasty, nasty secret.), and she adored bad boys (or so he thought.)

He had always loved sweet, innocent girls and reading westerns and psychology textbooks and smoking for fun.

He was smarter-much smarter-than he had ever let on.

But with her-he confessed; any little secret poured out of his mouth and crept into her.

Because he loved her and wanted no secrets between them. He wanted innocence and bliss and no lies. But he was naïve.

;;;

Little presents were washed over her when Christmas came. She kissed him under the twinkling stars on that cool, romantic evening after he handed her a bouquet of bloody tulips, but the kiss didn't feel-didn't taste-right.

Her lips were sensitive and pushed softly to his, brushing lightly, but not passionately and that was what their relationship consisted of.

His thoughts were becoming increasingly troubled as the shallow kiss halted; she whispered, "I shouldn't be here." The soft squish of the snow against her heels slid through him, and weakened his knees. She melted into the foggy distance, but not from his mind.

;;;

Months followed. He trailed her, begged her, called her out in front of her friends. It was never a good idea to trouble her around them. She spoke, in her sweet-so very sweet-tone for him to go fuck himself and watch A Very Potter Musical.

As she put it, "Maybe it will make your sense of humor lighter."

He began to flail and lose his wrinkled grasp on the world-on her.

;;;

He had been going to the graveyard a lot lately. Maybe it was the dull, acrid gray that attracted him. Or maybe it was the hopeful freedom of death.

He didn't want to love a bitch like her.

But he did.

;;;

Her mouth was on Derrick Harrington's. He watched her stealthy little tongue push and grind against Derrick's mouth, and almost exploded from the _hothothot_ push of rage.

He couldn't feel his heart anymore.

He hadn't noticed that his chest was empty-hollow-but there was nothing left in him except a drive that left him breathless. Would he dare?

;;;

She brushed his hand at the mall when he had stalked past her, dark head ducked.

He had shot up and glanced for her, but her slender form had already whipped away.

He pursued her, and -shit-she ran. Fast and hard she loped, but he caught her. Right there in her backyard, he growled that she needed to stop ignoring him and treating him like shit. He was a human being, and deserved better than this. Hell, she didn't deserve him!

But it was all words, and she knew it.

Her orange eyes darkened, and her even lips drew a flat frown across her face.

He wasn't worthy of her: she made that known by the harsh whelp across his face and the "fuck you!".

It was his turn to run.

;;;

He had fled to the only home he had ever know-Cam. His brother was pacing, harried, from side to side. He shouted so loud that Harris winced. "He did what?" A brief moment of silence, and Harris sensed something portentous in the air. "You did that? He's my fucking brother, Mass! How could you treat him like that?" His heart leapt from his body and flopped on the ground. "You didn't tell him?" Another _coldcoldcold_ span of silence. "Oh. Good." Cam sighed. "Love you too, Mass."

Oh, and he ran again. But faster and with not an ounce of love or hope or consideration for anyone in his rampant path.

He was done. Done with her.

;;;

He leapt over the fence bordering her spacious yard and withdrew some crystal meth. Why not make his last time grand?

He withdrew his needle, brimming with the delicious poison and stabbed it into his mouth, loosening its silky wrath on him.

He wasn't done.

He popped a few Viagra. They would get a laugh out of that one.

It wasn't long before it overcame him. His eyesight was fading, his heart was pounding and gasping so hard against his bared chest, his limbs were twitching uncontrollably, and-shit-he was so warm. His clothes were drenched, but he had managed to pick and lug a sharp rock at the living room window as darkness overwhelmed.

Oh well.

He wouldn't get to see her lovely face crinkle in horror.

;;;

His funeral came. It was set in a quaint, cozy roadside that unmatched his wild, obnoxious streak, but his parents wanted it there, and they got it. Many came, and many smiled-genuinely.

That Harris boy was never going to amount to anything anyway. What a shame.

It was whispered among the majority, and most sorrowfully agreed with it.

She didn't come. Her eyes-that he had loved so much-were red but were to never be seen like that. Miss Massie Block couldn't show that she actually cared for him, now could she?

Oh and sweet, adorable Cam Fisher sat front row, tears streaming, sobs shattering, hands clenching, and guilt washing and tearing through.

Not so sweet.

He was cremated, his ashes thrown and seeded into the broad ocean. How gray were those ashes. Just like old cobblestone. Maybe that was what he had been dreaming of.

;;;

She visited his faux grave; after all, Harris Fisher had been quite an infamous character. He needed one.

She reminisced of him confessing that he loved gray. Including his love of gravestones.

She cleaned the stone with her wet, thick tears and laid down her token: a bouquet of white tulips.

She hated him for killing himself in her fucking backyard, but she had deserved it. And she knew it.

She stepped to the edge of the seashore where his ashes had been thrown.

She had loved him. More than she had ever known that she could.

She edged to the peak and pictured herself plummeting and joining him in the rocky depths.

_But he wasn't worth it. _

Harris Fisher couldn't live up to Miss Massie Block. He just wasn't good enough.

_What a shame._

**;;;**

**A/N: I think that sucked cuz it was sarcastic and weird, but I hope that it was liked (by especially you, Merc!) Reviews?**


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